


I Wish I Hated You

by MCRmyGeneral



Series: Words I Never Said [9]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Closeted Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Support, Friendship, I Like Her Better, I picture Season One Mandy, M/M, Mandy's kind of a badass, Photographs, Running Away, Sibling Love, Wingman Mandy, ultimatum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MCRmyGeneral/pseuds/MCRmyGeneral
Summary: "What are you hopin', I tell you not to go?"The 'break-up' scene from 3x12, and what follows, AKA how Mickey got Ian's picture.





	I Wish I Hated You

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Her Song by Machine Gun Kelly, who SPOILER ALERT, is a fucking _bad-ass_!
> 
> Also, I just thought I'd throw this out there; when writing Mandy in this most of my works, I always seem to picture season one Mandy. I just think S1Mandy is a lot sweeter and she seems to care a lot more about Ian. I'm not really a fan of Mandy past season one, because I think she's incredibly rude and disrespectful to Fiona (and if I were Fiona, I would've smacked her and kicked her out of my house after about two of her snippy comments), and psychotically clingy, and once she gets together with Lip, she kind of forgets about Ian, who's supposedly her best friend. She gets better in season 4, but she's still not a character I'd be super excited to see come back (If we're picking favorite Milkoviches, you all _know_ I'm backing Iggy til I die!). I think she fits in better as a Milkovich, because she's tough and feisty, but I think S1Mandy cared about Ian a lot more, and I just like her characterization of Mandy better and so she's usually who I picture when I write her. But that doesn't mean you have to!

Ian looked up at the grey sky as he walked the six blocks to the Milkovich house. The air was cold, sneaking in between his jacket and his skin, but he didn't mind. He climbed the steps to the door, knocking lightly.

Mandy opened the door, and for a split second before she smiled, he saw _something_ in her eyes that he couldn't place. Anger? Most likely; she's a Milkovich. But it could've been sadness. Sympathy. Maybe even pity. But it was gone in an instant. “Hey, where were you today? I didn't see you at school.”

He shrugged. “Something came up.”

Mandy stepped aside and let him in, the change in temperature sending a shiver down his spine. The emotion flashed through her eyes again, and though Ian still couldn't put a name to it, he realized why it was there. He suddenly remembered the other night, when he was so drunk, he'd thrown up in his neighbor's yard. But before that, he'd yelled that he'd been fucking Mickey to Lip, outing both Mickey and their affair to his sister. So it was probably a cocktail of emotions; anger, sadness, sympathy, _and_ pity. He smiled sadly at his best friend.

“They gave us homework over the christmas break,” She told him, rolling her eyes. “I told Mrs. Stoltz that Jesus didn't want us celebrating his birthday by fucking reading,” She said with a laugh, and Ian smiled, too. “You want the assignments?”

“Just came by to see you,” He all-but whispered, and Mandy seemed to sense that this wasn't necessarily a happy visit. 

“Who's at the goddamn door?” An unmistakable voice came from deep within the house. It made Ian shiver even now, with his decision made. His sad smile set even deeper.

“It's for me, shithead!” Mandy called back. Then she turned her attention back to Ian. “Got some nitrous,” She offered. “I'll go get it.”

Ian silently chuckled. She _would_ think nitrous would be the answer right now. It wasn't, but hey, it didn't hurt to try. He leaned up against the wall, waiting patiently for Mandy to return.

“Hey.”

Ian closed his eyes and almost smiled. He knew the boy so well, knew he'd play right into his hands. Mickey walked into the hall, and a tense awkwardness invaded the atmosphere between them. He was looking good, in a Diego tee and a sleeveless hoodie, which really served no purpose except letting Ian get an eyeful of those sexy toned arms he loved so much. So the hoodie wasn't all bad. Mickey held up the dumbbell in his hand proudly. “Up to four sets of 20,” He said, hoping it would do _something_ to lessen the tension. Of course, it didn't. 

Ian said nothing, knowing how it would grind on the boy’s nerves. Mickey nodded toward his bedroom. “Get in here, I want to show you something. Come on,” He added when Ian didn't move. He knew it was stupid, but he was desperate. He wanted things to go back to as normal as they used to be. He was grasping at straws, but Ian didn't even care.

Ian rolled his eyes but relented, following Mickey down the hall to his room.

“Check it out,” Mickey announced, and Ian really didn't see what he was pointing out, until he spoke again. “Wife made me take all my Nazi shit down. She hates Nazis. Apparently the Russians kicked some serious Kraut ass in World War II, so…” He trailed off, sucking on a beer, and then Ian noticed that the posters for his white supremacy punk bands were all taken down. Mickey lit a cigarette as he spoke about his, Ian shuddered, _wife_. “She can drink me under the fucking table, man. It's weird. Anyways. She's working tomorrow night,” He said with a smirk. “Why don't we pick up where we left off? Figure she's gonna be out fucking dudes. Why can't I?” He asked, and Ian almost laughed. For someone as street-wise as Mickey was, he was kind of an idiot sometimes.

Ian shook his head sadly. “No, thanks,” He shrugged.

Mickey smiled sinfully, which usually cracked Ian's shell and had him unzipping his fly in seconds. But he didn't feel that now. He was just sad and hurt. “Mm. Hard to get's getting me hard, Gallagher,” Mickey teased, puffing on his cigarette.

“I'm, uh, leaving town,” Ian offered, knowing that Mickey's curiosity was insatiable.

“There a queer rights rally somewhere?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Army.”

“Ah! Right,” Mickey said, rolling his eyes. “You gotta be 18,” He reminded him, eyes still playful.

Ian busied himself playing with his hoodie string. “Yeah, I figured a way around that,” He said seriously, and Mickey's smile fell.

“You serious?” He asked almost angrily. “You're signing up?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Ian answered, smiling softly.

A guilt settled in Mickey's stomach. This was all because of him. He was single-handedly driving Ian away from his home, his family, from him. “That's a dumb-ass fuckin’ move. How long?”

“Four years. Minimum.”

That got him. Mickey's face fell harder than Ian ever thought it could, and it sparked some sick satisfaction in his chest. He almost felt guilty for a moment. Almost.

God, four years? This had to be a joke. Mickey licked his lip, body buzzing with some emotion he didn't know how to name. “What are you hopin', I tell you not to go?” He asked, his voice already thickening with tears. “I'm gonna chase after you like some bitch?” He threw at Ian, but Ian shook his head.

“I didn't come here for you,” He said, which was both the truth and a lie. He _had_ come to see Mandy, hoping to spend a little time with her before he left. But he knew Mickey would be here, and he knew Mickey wouldn't be able to leave things between them alone. He knew he'd get the chance to rub this in the boy’s face. He turned away from the door.

Mickey's heart lurched in his chest. He was sorry. Why didn't Ian see that? He didn't want to hurt him, and he hated that he had. But this was too much. Four years? Did the punishment really fit the crime? Mickey shook his head. Besides the sex, Ian was important to him, probably his best friend. He didn't want him to leave. “Don't,” He managed to gasp when Ian turned his back on him.

Ian turned back around; this was what he'd been waiting for. “Don't what?” He asked. He knew he was being manipulative, but for as badly as Mickey had treated him in the beginning, he figured his sins could be forgiven. Maybe it was selfish, but he just needed to hear Mickey admit it. Maybe he didn't love Ian, and that was fine. But he _did_ care about him, Ian was sure of it. All Mickey needed to do was admit it.

 _Just say it, Mickey,_ he thought. Desperately hoped. _You can do it. All you have to do is ask me not to go, and I won't. Prove to me that you want me here. Please._

Mickey opened and closed his mouth a half-dozen times. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue. _Don't go_. He knew he could say them. He'd managed one already. Just one word, one little syllable was either gonna pull Ian back to him, or push him out the door. Mickey tried, he really did, but his heart was pounding and his throat was closing around his words and his breathing turned into pants and his eyes were watering. “Just-” He cut himself off. He didn't know why he couldn't say it. He wanted to, he desperately wanted to tell Ian not to go, to run over to him and hug him and kiss him and confess that he _did_ matter to him, that Mickey cared about him more than he could even admit to himself. He was so frustrated with himself. He couldn't manage this little word? He was weak, and now Ian knew it. He looked at the boy, his eyes pleading.

Ian saw it, but he didn't care. If Mickey couldn't man up and say it, Ian wasn't interested. Part of him knew that Mickey wouldn't let himself stop him. He knew Mickey was too scared. He rolled his eyes and an amused smile crept onto his face, even as his heart broke for the hundredth time, smashed once more by the boy he still loved, even now. He turned and walked back into the hallway. Mandy came up to him, a sad smile on her face.

“I got the nitrous. Meet you outside?” She offered, with what was more of a grimace than a smile.

Ian nodded. “Yeah,” He said, walking away.

Mickey hadn't heard the exchange. He'd sat down on his bed, his chin quivering with the effort of holding in his tears. He could've stopped him, still could. But something in his mind wouldn't let him. He wished he could shut his brain up, quiet the part of him that was repeating the homophobic shit he'd picked up from his father. Ian didn't deserve this. Ian was a good person, who deserved better than a coward who couldn't push the closet door open if he'd tried. Ian deserved to be loved the way Mickey knew he'd never be able to love him. But that didn't stop his heart from shattering as he heard Ian walk away. He _wanted_ the boy, more than he'd ever wanted anything before. He knew why he was letting him walk away, and he hated himself for it. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes to keep himself from crying.

He heard a soft scoff, and he turned to look over his shoulder to see his sister glaring at him, disappointment written all over her face.

“The fuck do you want?” He growled, letting the agony in his voice turn to anger.

Mandy wasn't buying it. “Really?” She scoffed again. “I mean, that's _all_ you're gonna say to him?”

Mickey's eyes widened. There was a bite to her voice that said more than her words. Though she spoke with venom, there was a sadness in her eyes. And in an instant, it clicked into place and Mickey understood why.

She knew.

“You’re a fucking pussy,” Mandy spat, sneering at her brother before stomping away.

Mickey turned back to the window, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip. Ian had walked away. And he’d let him.

Mandy was right. He _was_ a pussy.

****

Mandy squeezed Ian's fingers between her own, hoping it might bring him some comfort, even if just a little.

“What do you wanna do?” She asked softly.

Ian shrugged. “I don't care. I just wanted to see you. Hang out.”

Mandy sighed. “What's up with you, Ian?”

Ian pursed his lips, but he didn't answer her. She wasn't having that, so she punched him in the arm.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?”

“Tell me what's going on!”

Ian pulled her into a random yard, sitting down on the front steps. Mandy sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I gotta get outta here,” He confessed. “I got too much going on. I can't stay.”

Mandy's frown set in even further as she turned to face him. “Why did I know you were gonna say something like that?”

Ian tried to smile, but didn't quite make it.

“What's too much?” She pressed. He wasn't getting out of this conversation unscathed.

“Just… lots of emotions. Too many familiar people and places around here. It's mostly relationship stuff.”

Mandy wasn't satisfied with that answer. She hit him again.

“Stop that, Mands!”

“You're leaving because of a stupid _boy_?” She almost shrieked.

Ian frowned guiltily. “It's more complicated than that.”

“No, it's not!” She yelled. “He's an idiot, Ian!” She hissed, lowering her voice. “He's stupid and he's not important enough for you to leave home for! My brother is a complete and total ass and he's not worth all this trouble!”

“Mandy-”

Anger flared in Mandy's eyes and she pushed him, now angry for a completely different reason. “Why didn't you tell me? Why did you think you had to hide it? Did you think I would be mad? Did you think I'd stop loving you? _Or_ him?”

Ian sighed. “It wasn't me, it was Mickey. You know he's not out, can't be with your father around.”

Mandy raised her hand again, but Ian’s reflexes were quicker, and he wrapped a firm hand around her wrist.

“ _Don’t_ hit me again,” He said forcefully.

Mandy pouted and pulled her arm away, folding her hands in her lap. “I don't care. You should've told me. He's my brother and you're my best friend. I would've kept your secret. I wouldn't have outed my own brother, for fuck’s sake! I just…” She huffed. “I don't want you to leave,” She sniffled, tears gathering in her eyes.

Ian's heart dropped for the second time that day, because of the second Milkovich. He wrapped his arms around Mandy and hugged her tightly as she cried against his chest.

“I won't be gone forever, Mands. And you'll still have my phone number. We can still talk and text and I'll send you pictures and I'll think about you every day.”

Mandy sobbed once, wiping her face as she sat up. “Where are you gonna go?”

“I'm gettin’ an ID made that says I'm 18. I'm gonna join up in the morning.”

“The Army?” Mandy gasped.

Ian shrugged. “I know what I want. Why wait to get it?”

“Do you have _any_ idea what I will do to you _and_ Mickey if you get hurt because he drove you to Iraq or some shit?”

Ian smiled. “I gotta go through Basic Training first. It'll be a while before I get shipped out, if I ever do. I'll be okay, Mandy. I promise.”

Mandy took a few deep breaths. This was crazy in every way. Her brother was gay. Not only that, but he was fucking her best friend. And then he'd gotten married, hurting Ian so badly that he thought the only answer was to run away. To the fucking Army, where he might be shipped out to a country she couldn't pronounce to fight in a war that didn't matter. “Don't even know what you see in Mickey,” She huffed, and Ian smirked.

“He's got a nice ass.”

Mandy chuckled through her tears, wiping her face again. After a moment, she spoke. “The Army, huh?” She whispered. “Lots of hot boys in the Army. Hotter than my brother.”

Ian laughed for the first time in almost a week, and pulled Mandy back in for another hug, squeezing her warmly and burying his face in her hair. She reminded him of Fiona; supportive and comforting and always there to kick him in the ass if he needed it.

“I love you, Mandy,” He sighed, and he felt her shake with tears.

She leaned back and Ian wiped away the eyeliner that was running down her face. “I love you, too, Ian.” She smiled weakly before leaning in and kissing him sweetly.

When she was done sniffling, she stood and extended her hand to him. “Let's go get into trouble,” She said with a smirk.

Ian smiled gratefully and grabbed her hand.

****

Mandy closed the front door and leaned against it, frowning as she tried not to think about the fact that Ian was walking away from her, for god knows how long. She looked around the house, empty and silent. Her dad and her brothers were on a drug run, Mickey's wife was at work.

She sighed and walked toward Mickey's room, knocking softly on the door.

“Fuck off,” Came from within, but there was no bite to it.

Mandy sighed and shoved the door open.

Mickey was lying at the foot of the bed, his legs hanging off the edge. When he heard the door open, he sat up.

“Didn't I say ‘Fuck off’?” He threw at her, and _that_ sounded more like Mickey. Unfortunately for him, Mandy was one of the few people that wasn't intimidated by him.

She walked in, closing the door behind her. She sat next to her brother, and the silence settled over them tensely.

Mickey ran his tongue along his teeth. He knew she was gonna fucking _speak_. She had to; she was Mandy. She couldn't just leave it alone.

She sighed. “I get why you do it,” She said softly. “Why you keep it secret.”

“I don't know what the fuck you're talkin’ about,” Mickey snarled, and Mandy rolled her eyes.

“ _Sure_ you don't.”

Mickey threw a glare over his shoulder at her.

“Whatever,” She said defensively, and Mickey turned back to the wall. He wasn't sure he could actually talk about this if he had to look Mandy in the eye.

“Ian's a good person,” She scolded her brother. “He doesn't deserve to be treated like this.”

Mickey breathed in sharply, exhaling slowly so he wouldn't start crying again. But he nodded. “Yeah,” He admitted softly, so low that Mandy almost didn't hear him.

“You're just gonna let him leave?”

Mickey sighed. “What am I _supposed_ to do?”

“ _Something_ ,” She said firmly, slamming her hand down on the bed. “Anything! _Don't_ let him leave, Mickey,” She pleaded.

Mickey shook his head. “I have to,” He whispered, and Mandy scoffed.

“How did dad manage to raise such a coward?”

He stood and spun, advancing on his sister, who flinched at the fire in his eyes. “ _Don't_ bring him into this. This is all his fault in the first place! Ian and I had a good thing going and we were happy! Then _he_ fucked it all up by coming home early and-” He cut himself off and dug his teeth into his bottom lip. Mandy knew enough as it was. She didn't need all the details.

Sadness flashed through her eyes. “I'm sorry,” She whispered, looking down at the floor.

Mickey took a step back, satisfied with her change in attitude. If Terry hadn't spewed fag-bashing bullshit at him his entire life, he might not be so afraid to be open with who he was.

“We, uh, we went to the mall. Got a bunch of old pictures developed,” Mandy said with a smile. She pulled a few folded-up photos from her pocket. “He's got the ones he wanted, I've got mine.” She held one out to Mickey. “You should keep this one.”

Mickey wanted to reach out and take the picture so badly. His fingers twitched, but he couldn't bring himself to actually take the photo from Mandy's hand. He frowned at her and walked over to his dresser, grabbing his smokes.

Mandy roller her eyes. Even now, Mickey was showing his weakness. She scoffed at him again, and stood. Tossing the picture on the bed, she turned to leave.

A clarity fell over her as she reached the door. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, closing her eyes when she felt the tears well up again. “He loves you, you know,” She said sadly.

Mickey swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes watering, too. He opened his mouth, but it was a second before he could speak. When he finally could, only two words came out. “I know.”

Mandy shook her head and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mickey glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door close. He sat back down on his bed, frowning when he heard a crumple beneath him. He pulled out the photo Mandy had left him, unfolding it and smiling sadly.

It was Ian, throwing the bird at the camera and smiling slightly. He was in a faded t-shirt and a beanie, so the picture must have been a few months old at least. Even though he was flipping the bird, there was a smile in his eyes, one Mickey hadn’t seen in a long time. Too long.

He tried to think about what happened this morning, but the more he thought, the harder it was to keep from sobbing. Four years was a long time. And even after that, it might be longer. He might get sent out to Kabul or Kandahar or somewhere equally as fucked. He might get hurt fighting, he could even die. And it was all his fault. When he’d come home, there was little to no chance he’d ever want to even see Mickey again. Hell, he might never come home; he might get his own place and stay in the army and never come back to this shithole town. Mickey didn’t know which scenario made his heart hurt worse.

He let his wall down for just a moment, closing his eyes and hugging the picture to his chest, saying a silent ‘thank you’ to his hard-headed sister for not giving up and insisting he have it.

His lover, his best friend, his _only_ friend, was gone. And there wasn’t anybody else Mickey could pass the blame onto. This was on his shoulders, and his shoulders only.

After a moment, Mickey sniffled, wiping the tears from his eyes and standing. He crept to the bathroom and grabbed a magazine from the bottom of the stack his father kept by the toilet. He took one last look at his beautiful mistake before tucking the picture into the pages and returning the magazine to it’s place at the bottom of the pile.

 _Hiding him away one last time_ , Mickey thought to himself as he turned to leave. He shook his head and shut off the bathroom light, plunging the room into darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> I take requests and prompts! Let me know what you'd like to see [here](http://ieroween1031.tumblr.com/ask)!


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